


So Very Far

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Series: Fall Away [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Character Study, D/s AU, Depression, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Infidelity - sort of, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s less that Dylan started to feel like he wasn’t enough, and more that he always felt like he could never be enough.  But there was something about Connor that made Dylan think - maybe.<br/>Maybe it was because they’d met before their dynamics really presented, when no one knew what the fuck Dylan would turn out to be (not that he has a better clue what he is now, besides fucked up).</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Very Far

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have 4.5k of Dylan Strome angsting about his relationship with Connor.
> 
> I do not represent the real people presented as characters in this fic, nor do I make any claims about what they do or do not do in their personal lives.

“So you did _what_ , Stromer?” Mitch asks incredulously.

Dylan’s _so, so glad_ he refused to turn on his webcam when Marns had asked him to.

“Dylan.”

“I told him I couldn’t do it and hung up.”

Mitch hadn’t turned off his camera, though, and Dylan can see how Mitch drops his head into his hands and sighs.  There’s a sense of disappointment, that Dylan can feel radiating off of Mitch, and Dylan has to choke down all the apologies he wants to make.

 

.oOo.

 

It’s less that Dylan started to feel like he wasn’t enough, and more that he always felt like he could never _be_ enough.  It’s just a fact: nobody wants a Dom who’s a sub three-fourths of the time, and nobody wants a sub who’s a Dom a quarter of the time.

But there was something about Connor that made Dylan think _maybe_.

Maybe it was because they’d met before their dynamics really presented, when no one knew what the fuck Dylan would turn out to be (not that he has a better clue what he is _now_ , besides fucked up).  But Connor, sweet and soft-spoken and so scared of imposing on Dylan’s mom whenever he came over, was never going to be anything but a sub.

It was easy not to think about it, to just curl up on the couch with him after a loss, or run around in the basement, throwing tennis balls against the paneling, after a win.  It was easy to ignore the way Connor would look to Dylan when the guys asked them to go out to eat, or what their plans were over the weekend, as if he expected Dylan to answer for the both of them.  He could just keep being Connor’s friend, even after the first time they kissed, when Connor was named captain of the Otters, the first sub captain of the team, even after they kissed again, and kept kissing.

He didn’t think about it after their first loss that season, when Connor went down on his knees instead of sitting next to Dylan on the couch, and stayed there, cheek on Dylan’s thigh, for _hours_.

It was easier to think he was just nervous about looking out for his friend, or about the season, or _anything_ , than thinking that there’d be a day when he couldn’t give Connor what he needed.

 

.oOo.

 

“Dyls, you gotta help me understand here,” Mitch groans.  “Like – okay.  I’m telling you now.  I’m not ordering you around right now, I’m not – I’m not gonna Dom you when you’re fucked up, okay?”

Dylan sniffles, wiping his nose with the sleeve of the Otters hoodie he was wearing – one of Connor’s, not his own.  “I’m always fucked up.”

“ _Dylan_.”  Mitch sounds like he’s in pain.  “Please put your camera on.”

Dylan does.  He owes it to Mitch, if he’s gonna have some fucking breakdown over skype, to at least let Mitch see him and not have to guess how he’s feeling by his voice.

“Dylan, buddy, c’mon.  What’s going on?”

“I told you already,” Dylan mutters, curling up under his blankets, keeping his laptop balanced on his pillow.  “You know everything that’s going on.”

“I don’t mean with – Connor and his pile of Doms,” Mitch snaps.  Dylan blinks at the screen, wide-eyed.  He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s seen Mitch really, truly angry.  “I mean with _you_.  You haven’t been okay at least since Worlds.”

“I told you,” Dylan says again.  “I’m never okay.”

 

.oOo.

 

The first time they played together – negotiations, safewords, everything – Dylan nearly had a panic attack after.  He had Connor lying in his arms, breath ghosting over Dylan’s neck.  They were both dressed.  They were still young, and it still felt weird to rub against each other, much less touch each other’s dicks.

But Connor had nearly been begging, holding tight to Dylan’s shoulders and moaning as Dylan sucked marks into his neck and rubbed his thigh against Connor’s dick.  It’d been amazing, to see Connor so free and trusting and desperate for _Dylan_.

And then – looking down at Connor in his arms, mouth open to breathe and leaving a spot of drool on Dylan’s t-shirt – he was hit with a startling sort of clarity, that he didn’t deserve the trust Connor put in him.

He still tried – he tried _fucking hard_ , for their time in Erie, to be what Connor deserved.  To take Connor down when he needed it, when they both wanted it, when Connor would look up at him with kiss-bruised lips and arch against him and whisper _you wanna?_

And when Dylan felt like he was breaking apart, he crawled into his bed and pulled the blankets as tight around himself as he could and laid there in the dark and pretended it was enough.

 

.oOo.

 

“Being a switch doesn’t mean you’re fucked up, Dylan.”

“Maybe not for _you._ ”

“Not for you, either.”

“Marns,” Dylan sighs, exhaustion creeping over him at just the thought of explaining it to someone that won’t get it.  “I’m more like a sub that fucks up and wants to Dom sometimes than a switch.  I should’ve just – fucking – called myself a sub or something and let everyone think I was just weird.”  He swallows harshly, and says, “Switches are supposed to be like you.”

“They’re not supposed to be anything,” Mitch says.  His computer feed jolts, like his screen’s moving – and then Dylan sees he’s lying down, too, just like Dylan is.  “Switches _switch_ between being a Dom and a sub.  That’s it!  You do that!”

Dylan plays with the edge of his blanket, pulling at the threads of the stitching.

“Dylan.”

“What,” Dylan mutters.

“ _Dylan_.”

“I said it already!”

“Well sometimes you need to spell things out for me!  I’m done jumping to conclusions about you, and taking guesses based on what you give me, okay?  I’m done with it!  Because it looks like every one of them’s been _wrong_ , because you’ve been lying to me, and if I wasn’t so worried about you I’d fucking hang up!”

“Hang up then,” Dylan snaps.

They’re both breathing heavily, strangely loud and staticky in the silence of Dylan’s room.

“Dylan,” Mitch says again.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just – I’m worried.”

“You’re what a switch is supposed to be,” Dylan repeats.  Before Mitch can say anything, Dylan continues: “You’re a Dom most of the time, and you do it without any effort, and then sometimes you just need to sub.  80/20, right?  That’s what a switch is supposed to be.”

“So you’re not a switch, because you need to sub more than I do?”

“I’m not a good switch.  I’m not good for anything.”

Mitch is quiet for a moment, staring at Dylan through the screen.  “Do you hate me, for being a – a ‘good’ switch?”

Dylan looks away.  “I wanted to.”

” _Fuck_ , Dyls.”

Dylan takes a deep breath.  “Nobody wants a sub who needs to Dom sometimes, and nobody wants a Dom who can’t always Dom them.”  He’s thought it so many times, but saying it out loud, in the middle of the day in fucking Erie, Pennsylvania, makes him want to puke.

“That’s why you’re not a Dom or a sub,” Mitch says patiently.  “It’s the whole _point_ , Dylan.”

 

.oOo.

 

It was the fucking – it was all because of the fucking trip to game 3 of the finals, that all the top prospects go on.

When Connor picked _him_ , out of everyone, to thank – like Dylan has anything at all to do with Connor being as amazing as he is – and Dylan couldn’t do anything other than stare at the ground and try to breathe evenly.  Connor didn’t notice, really.  He gave Dylan a weird little smile, but he didn’t ask Dylan why he was acting weird.

But Connor – Connor very obviously was riding that edge of ‘ready to go down,’ and Dylan _couldn’t_.  There must have been some sort of vibe he was putting off – or maybe it’s just the way he kept folding in on himself – that made Connor gravitate more towards Mitch, and even the Dom prospects.

It wasn’t weird for him, Connor, and Mitch to all be hanging around together.  And Connor liked to be enveloped, surrounded, so it also wasn’t weird for him to wedge himself between Mitch and Dylan and stay there.  But Dylan couldn’t help but notice every time there was space next to Dylan, and Connor would go over to Mitch instead.

Mitch, who was riding the energy of this whole shitshow into a Dom headspace, instead of self-destructing and sinking down towards subdrop like Dylan was.

And what was worse, really, was that Dylan just wanted to sink down in Mitch’s lap and curl up against him like Connor was so close to doing.  It was hard to keep himself upright, only listing into Mitch’s space when he zoned out.

They met – fuck – Jonathan Toews, who makes Dylan want to go to his knees through a fucking tv screen.  Dylan shook his hand as firmly as he could, still saw the speculative look cross Toews’s face when Dylan let go as soon as he could.  And he looked almost _affectionate_ when he shook Connor’s hand, and Connor leaned forward into his space.  Dylan was torn between jealousy – Toews didn’t look at him like that – and possessiveness – Toews shouldn’t look at what’s _his_ like that – before he remembered Toews has got his own sub on the team, who’s so confident and wears his collar with pride every damn day, and he fell into self-loathing again.

Mitch almost got hit by Toews’s backpack, and he was still charismatic and smiling and meeting Toews’s eyes, and that, more than anything, was when Dylan realized that he was more unlike Mitch than he was like him.

It all exploded when they were back in their hotel room, after the game, Dylan and Connor curled around each other in the bed closest to the window.

“C’mon, Dyls,” Connor murmured, sliding his arms around Dylan’s back and rocking against him.  Dylan could feel Connor getting hard in his sweats.

“I’m not in the mood,” Dylan said, scooting far enough back that Connor wouldn’t be able to tell he was still soft, but not so far he couldn’t keep holding Connor.

“ _Dylan_ ,” Connor whined.  “If you’re tired, you can just watch me jerk off.  Please?”

“Connor,” Dylan sighed.  It would have been easy to say okay, to watch Connor get off and leave it at that.  But then –

“Please, Sir?”

Dylan knows what Connor was trying to do.  With Doms their age, it’s a pretty much surefire way to get them into it, to look up through your lashes and beg them with a nice title.

But Dylan’s not a Dom.  Connor calling him that sent a bolt of shame through him, stronger than anything else he’d ever felt.

“I’m not in the mood,” Dylan snapped, and rolled over.

“What’s your problem?” Connor asked, pout clear in his voice.  “Dylan—”

“If you want someone to watch you jerk off, go find someone else,” Dylan said, and buried his head under a pillow.

Everything was quiet for a moment.  All Dylan could hear was the loud rasp of his own breath.  And then—

“Fine.”

And Connor left.  Grabbed his keycard off the desk and just walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Dylan couldn’t fall asleep.  He laid there in the dark for hours, until finally Connor came back and crawled into bed with him.  He smelled like the shitty cologne Eichel had been wearing.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said quietly.  “I know I shouldn’t pressure you—”

“It’s fine,” Dylan replied, just as quietly.  But he couldn’t turn over to face him.  Connor curled up against his back, and eventually, they fell asleep.

As far as Dylan knows, that was the first time Connor had gone to someone else when Dylan wasn’t enough for him.  That’s when Dylan realized how much of an option it was.

 

.oOo.

 

“But that’s what Connor needs,” Dylan says, feeling like his chest is going to crack open.  “That’s what Connor needs, he needs a real Dom, someone that can take care of him and not just fucking _pretend._ ”

“You take care of him,” Mitch tells him.  “Dylan, come on.  You know you do.”

“I _try._ ”  And Dylan just thinks _fuck it_ , adds on, “Why else would he have all those Doms in Edmonton?”

Mitch sighs.  “Dylan, that’s not fair.”

“Like fuck it’s not,” Dylan spits.  “I’m not enough for him.  That’s why he has Ference there, to actually take care of him, so he can let me think that I’m actually doing something.  I didn’t even know about – about the things he likes, until _Andrew_ told him he should tell me, like he needs his Dom’s permission to tell me something, and all he ever wants to talk about it is how Andrew did this or Andrew did that or _Andrew’s not talking to me what do I do_ like I don’t have things _I_ want to talk to him about, too!”

He’s embarrassed when he realizes he’s crying at the end of it, tears dribbling down his cheeks and soaking into his pillow.

“Dylan,” Mitch says quietly.  “Dylan, I’m not trying to attack you but… did you try saying that to him?”

Dylan shakes his head.

“Dylan,” Mitch says again.  And it’s what Dylan hates most: _pity_.

 

.oOo.

 

Dylan was still the one that Connor came to most of the time.  They still spent almost all of their time together, Connor still asked to go to his knees for Dylan, they’d still lie in bed and make out and rub against each other.  Connor’s still so sweet, nuzzling against Dylan and moaning when Dylan kisses his neck.

Dylan tried harder, to be what Connor needed.  But there were still times when he’d nudge Connor and ask, “You coming over for dinner tonight?” and Connor would look away and stutter out some excuse.

Connor got better at explaining why he couldn’t be with Dylan, and it didn’t take Dylan long to figure out it was because he was spending time kneeling for some of the Doms they were friends with.

And, the night before the draft, when Dylan spread Connor out on the bed and sucked a mark into his neck and stroked his cock achingly slow, he asked if Connor had let anyone else touch him.  And Connor shook his head so hard, grabbed hold of Dylan’s shoulders, choked out, “No one else but you,” and Dylan believed him.

And, after Dylan was drafted third, he lost track of Connor for a couple hours, and when he found him again, he smelled like Eichel’s shitty cologne.  That night, Dylan held Connor’s hips tight to the bed and sucked his cock, listening to Connor try and fail to stop from shouting.  He left bruises in the shape of his fingertips on Connor’s thighs, and jerked off onto his stomach after Connor had come in his mouth.

“First and third overall,” Connor whispered, kissing Dylan deeply.

 _We’ll be the in the same conference_ , Dylan thought, and convinced himself it was close enough to what they had now.

 

.oOo.

 

“You need to talk to him.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Honestly, Dylan, I don’t give a fuck what you want.”

Dylan scowls at the screen.  Mitch glares right back.

“Do you honestly think that Connor hasn’t tried calling me, too, to see if I know anything?”

Dylan freezes.  He’d vaguely thought, yeah, that Connor could have tried calling Mitch.  But he didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it, and he figured Connor could have gone to any number of people in Edmonton that would have some inkling about it.

“He’s fucked up right now, Dylan.  He has no clue what’s going on.  He has _no.  Clue._   You’ve been hiding this shit for, what, months?  Years?  The entire time you and him have been together?  And you don’t even explain yourself when you fucking shit all over him!  So yeah, Dylan, I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to talk to him right now.  Because you need to.  You owe it to him to at least let him know how you’re feeling, and you owe it to yourself.”

“I don’t owe myself anything,” Dylan admits, rolling over and facing the ceiling.

“Dylan, you’re still worth something.”

And that – that gets right to the heart of it.  So much of Dylan has been centered around what he can do for Connor, with Connor, and now they’re separated, and Connor has other people, and he doesn’t need Dylan, and if Dylan doesn’t have Connor, than what does Dylan have?

“You’ve still got me, and even if it doesn’t feel like it, you still have Connor,” Mitch tells him.  Dylan hadn’t realized he’d said all of that out loud.  “He fucking loves you.  The first time he called me, he just cried into the phone for five minutes until Taylor Hall took it away and said Connor’d call me back.”

Dylan made Connor _cry_.

“Just please call him.  I promise he’ll pick up.”  Mitch pauses.  “How many times has he called you?”

“He filled up my voicemail,” Dylan replies grudgingly.  “And he didn’t leave a voicemail every time.”

“Dylan, you have to call him.”

“Okay, okay,” Dylan says, turning to look at his screen.  “I will.  I’ll call him.  Tonight.  Okay?

“Okay,” Mitch agrees, finally offering Dylan a small smile.  “Thank you, Dylan.”

Dylan flushes and looks off to the side.  Mitch shouldn’t be thanking him when he basically had to beg him, when he’s getting him to call his boyfriend.

 

.oOo.

 

Mitch and Dylan’s whole _thing_ started a few weeks after the draft.  When Connor’d been off doing _whatever_ with Eichel, Dylan had stuck to Mitch’s side, jumped into his arms just like he’d promised, when Mitch came back in the Maple Leafs jersey.

They were never like he and Connor were, even when Dylan had thought, sometimes, maybe, they could be.  They’d hang out and play video games, jostle each other on the couch, and wrestle over the last pizza roll even when there were more in the freezer upstairs.  And maybe sometimes they’d stay pressed together a little longer than necessary, maybe Mitch would keep Dylan pinned a little longer, hold his wrists a little tighter, than he needed to, but they never…

But Dylan wanted to.  It wasn’t enough, anymore, to just pile blankets and quilts on top of himself after Mitch or Connor or whoever else went home.

Ryan was home for the summer, training, and cornered him after breakfast one morning.  Ryan was a switch, too, more of a 50/50 than Dylan had seen in anyone else.

“You need to find someone to take you down when you need it,” Ryan told him.  “You can’t handle the NHL if you don’t have the balance.”

Dylan had nodded and peaced the fuck out of that conversation, but he’d thought about it.

And that night, he’d skyped Mitch.  Not for the first time, not when they’re such good friends separated for the entire season, but for the first time just sitting there in his boxers.

“Dude, put on a fucking shirt,” Mitch had laughed and said, covering his eyes.

“If I ask you something, do you promise not to laugh?” Dylan blurted out.

Mitch agreed, and Dylan closed his eyes and said, “I need someone to go down for, and I trust you.”

“I would never laugh at that,” Mitch assured him.  “Do you… do you know what you like?”

It was the most awkward set of negotiations in the entire fucking _world_.  Finally, Mitch had had to say, “I’m not doing anything for you that you can’t ask me for.”  And Dylan was able to spit out, “Tell me when I’m doing things well.  Help me do things right.  Tell me what to do.  Don’t let me come until I’m doing it right.”

Jerking off over grainy skype footage for Mitch that night, with Mitch’s voice coming through his headphones, was the best orgasm he thinks he ever had.

And it was a week later that he’d gasped out “Daddy, please,” when Mitch told him he couldn’t come yet, for the third time that night, and Mitch had let out this squeak and come and Dylan nearly fell off his bed.

At the time, Dylan didn’t know where it was coming from.  It had just slipped out.  And it kept happening, enough that it became a regular thing they did, that Mitch bought into it.  But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

There’d been this weight of shame suffusing his skype sessions with Mitch – enough that they didn’t talk about it when they were together in person.  Calling him “Daddy” instead of “Sir” almost separated it from the whole _dynamics_ question, like this was just the two of them doing some weird fucked up sex thing, instead of a switch in Dom headspace and a switch in subspace.  It made it easier.  But not easy enough.

 

.oOo.

 

“Look – you know there are ways to have a non-traditional relationship.”

“Yeah, I know.  Considering polyamory isn’t exactly traditional.”  Dylan fucking _researches_ , okay?

“That’s not what I’m talking about.  I mean… non-dynamic relationships.  Or like, two subs, or whatever.”

Dylan freezes.

“I know you think that Connor couldn’t be happy with someone besides a Dom but just… just think about it.  Maybe that’s not what he needs from _you_ all the time.  Maybe there are other things you can do for him.”

Dylan lets out a shaky breath.

“When was the last time you really Dommed him?  Even over skype.”

“It was like, a week…” Dylan starts, then pauses.  He and Connor had played over skype, but he hadn’t really been Domming Connor.  Dylan had been saying he liked seeing Connor do this, liked seeing him fuck himself open, liked when he kept his panties on, and Connor had done it, and Connor had begged to come and Dylan had let him, but it wasn’t like Dylan was ordering him around.  It was still definitely dynamics related – Dylan doesn’t think Connor could have non-dynamic sex if he fucking tried – but it wasn’t really a _scene_.

“I’ll talk to you in a couple days, okay?” Mitch says quietly.  “And you can always text me or whatever before then.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says.  “Thanks, Mitch.”

“Any time, Dyls.”  Mitch smiles at him, small but still genuine, and closed out of skype.

 

.oOo.

 

Telling Connor that he was playing with Mitch was almost anticlimactic.  They were curled up in Dylan’s twin bed, faded plaid sheets pulled tight around them and boxers still pushed down around their thighs, and Dylan’s phone had chirped with Mitch’s text alert from under the pillow.

Without a second thought, Dylan had checked it, and chuckled at the stupid joke Mitch had sent him.

“What is it?” Connor asked fuzzily.

“Just Mitch,” Dylan replied, and put his phone down.

There was a pause.

“You guys’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

“Yeah,” Dylan said, and held Connor tighter.  “We, um… sometimes I need to go down, or whatever.  And he helps a little.”

Dylan didn’t know what he’d been expecting.  For Connor to get angry that Dylan hadn’t asked first, or get possessive, or say that it couldn’t be Mitch because Mitch was his friend, too.  But Connor had just looked up at him and smiled and said, “I’m glad you’re getting what you need.”

How was it so easy, Dylan had wondered, for Connor to just _say_ things like that?

He wasn’t any closer to figuring it out now than he had been then.

 

.oOo.

 

Dylan dials his voicemail and types in his password, then holds his phone up to his ear.

_You have 18 new messages._

_First message:_ “Hey Dyl, it’s me.  I’m going back in the lineup tomorrow.  Just wanted to let you know, so you could watch the game if you’re around.  I guess you’re at practice or something.  Okay.  Bye.”  A pause, then hurried.  “I love you!”

 _Next message:_ “Hey Dyl, it’s me.  I’m about to go to the rink, and I just wanted to make sure you were gonna watch the game.  I watched yours last night – so check your texts.  I hope I do all right, after not playing for so long.”  Some shouting in the background.  “Okay, Hallsy’s saying he’s gonna leave without me, so I gotta go.  Love you.”

 _Next message:_ “Dylan, come on.  Dyls, just talk to me, please was I doing something wrong?  Please, what can’t you do?  Dylan, _I love you,_ c’mon Dylan!” The beginning of a sob.

 _Next message:_ “Dylan?” And more crying.

 _Next message:_ “Dylan, is your phone still off?  Please call me back?  Please?”

 _Next message:_ “Can you just tell me what I did?  You can text it to me.  You don’t have to call me back.”

 _Next message:_ Just crying, until the voicemail times out.

 _Next message:_ “Dyl, I love you, please.”

 _Next message:_ A couple minutes of crying, some shuffling over the phone, and then, distantly, “Davo, stop calling people just to cry!”

 _Next message:_ Another couple minutes of crying, and then, again, “I’m serious, I’ll hide your fucking phone!”

 _Next message:_ “Dyl, please just call me back, please, I know I did something wrong, I just want to know what I have to do to fix it.  Please, Dylan, please let me fix it, please Dylan—”

 _Next message:_ “I’ll do anything Dylan, please, just tell me what to do, I don’t know what to do I need you Dylan please I love you—”

 _Next message:_ Another couple minutes of crying, with shushing in the background, and then at the end, “Wait, is your phone on?  Did you call someone _again_?”

 _Next message:_ “Dylan, what’s going on?  Just tell me what’s going on, you don’t have to forgive me, you don’t have to love me anymore just please tell me what happened I don’t know what it is, I just want to know what I did to hurt you, please Dylan, I didn’t mean to do anything, you know I’d never hurt you, I love you, Dylan, I love you so much, Dylan, I love you I love you I love you…”

 _Next message:_ A couple minutes of crying, and then, angrily, “That’s it, Connor, I’m taking it!”

 _Next message:_ “Uh, whoever this is, sorry Connor keeps calling?  I’ll try to get him to stop.  This is Taylor Hall, by the way.  Uh.  Bye.”

 _Next message:_ “Dyl, please?  I love you.  Please, just send me a text?  Or just – post something on twitter.  Or something.  I just need to know you’re okay.  Please?”

 _Next message:_ “I love you.  I’m sorry.”

_No more new messages._

**Author's Note:**

> I SWEAR IT'S ALL GOING TO BE FIXEDDDDD but like so much of me was like 'okay there's all this shit going down that Connor is just blindsided by like Dylan deserves his own fic telling how he got to this point' so here it is.
> 
> (also I just wanna remind y'all from like three fics ago when taylor said he wouldn't involve himself in connor's relationship business unless connor was a danger to himself soooo)
> 
> join me in sin on tumblr @ somethingnerdythiswaycomes (or, ya know, come yell at me)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [As the Days Melt Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095658) by [somethingnerdythiswaycomes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes)




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